


Hold Onto Me

by wyntre



Series: The Space Between Words [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Soft murder husbands, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntre/pseuds/wyntre
Summary: "Fragility is something that we humans share with the earth, it makes us aware of our place in the universe."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: The Space Between Words [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/785187
Kudos: 28





	Hold Onto Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, in part, by Hold Onto Me by Mayday Parade.

Hannibal sat by the large window of his living room, watching as clouds loomed dark and low over the city of Baltimore. He could hear thunder, rolling off in the distance, the Gods bowling in their home amongst the stars. A flash of lightning illuminated his sharp jaw as it began to rain, just a few drops at first, then all at once. He took a sip of the dark, almost purple, red wine that sat in the glass on the coffee table, tasting berries and summer and days in his youth spent boating on the canals of Venice, the city an impressionist painting of dancing reflections and ancient buildings beneath the high, hot Adriatic sun. A distant memory, it would seem; but one that shone brightly in his mind palace, something he could reach for when the world seemed darker than he knew it to be. 

* * *

Will slipped the soft, cool shirt over his head. The matching set of fine linen pyjamas in a pale lavender had been presented to him by Hannibal when he had shown up at his door – drenched from the sudden downpour he had been caught in.

_Hannibal wordlessly stood aside as a sodden Will stepped across the threshold, he was disheveled and Hannibal could smell whiskey._

_“Let me get you a towel and something dry.”_

Will wiped the condensation off the mirror with the fluffy white towel and stared hard at his reflection, his dark curls – plastered to his head. He felt marginally better, the hot water had been therapeutic, soothing his fried nerves. The scent of the body wash he’d used, _Hannibal’s body wash_ , which was something that came to mind unbidden, still lingered in his nostrils and in the air. Will could almost taste it, as if he could taste how Hannibal smelt when he got too close and looked at him in a way that Will couldn’t pull away from.

Hanging on the back of the door was a black cashmere robe, and by the vanity matching black suede slippers. Will pulled these on too, noting, not for the first time that evening that Hannibal was so much larger than he was; how the loaned clothes enveloped him - made him feel _protected._ The word felt strange on his tongue. Something he had never fully understood or experienced. 

Hannibal glanced up as Will entered the kitchen. He looked good in the loaned clothing, Hannibal decided - though he wouldn't say it, and it occurred to him that down the track, he would be able to detect Will's scent in the fibres of the fabric - lingering, something tangible for Hannibal to hold onto, long after he had gone. Hannibal's smile was fond as he turned the spout on the siphon and added sugar - just as he had done before, when Will had shown up after being found, wandering the streets of Wolf Trap at two o'clock in the morning with Winston in tow. 

"Feeling better?"

"A little. Still…" He paused, searching for the right word, "fragile, I guess."

"Fragility is something that we humans share with the earth, it makes us aware of our place in the universe." Hannibal offered Will a cup of coffee, which he received gratefully. 

"I'm sorry to call on you so late."

"Please, don't worry about it, my kitchen is always open to friends." Hannibal's lips quirked up in a half-smile. This was an exchange they'd had before. A dance of sorts that sent them spinning out over the edge with only each other to hold on to, for purchase and balance in the air. The nothingness below them stretching out forever. “What’s on your mind?”

They spoke of tender things, endless things. A conversation that stretched and returned across time and space, forward, backward; all from them, now, in this place. With Hannibal smiling softly across a marble counter and Will, Will forgetting for a moment - his nightmares, his loneliness, his trembling limbs when he woke in sweat, forgetting when he had more than two fingers of whiskey and found himself at the bottom of the bottle again. Maybe this time, Hannibal could save him from himself. 

“Have you considered therapy?” Hannibal quipped, as he pottered about the kitchen. Will laughed, the first real laugh he had had in months - bubbling up from deep within and escaping in a puff of air. 

“You’re my anchor.” The words were all but a whisper, and Hannibal wasn’t sure if he was meant to have heard them. They hung between them, dense and low - fog on a dull November morning.   
Hannibal paused, walked around the counter to where Will sat, all small and unassuming, curled in on himself like he did when he was uncomfortable and used a large hand to cup his face. Will found himself leaning into the warm hand on his cheek.   
“Hold onto me, then,” Hannibal murmured; mellifluous, soft and adoring. Will turned his head to place small kisses on the inside of Hannibal’s wrist, where they set fire and burned long after those pillow-soft lips had left his skin.   
“Hold onto me.”


End file.
